Tuesday, September 1, 2009

An Evening of Cycling Absolutely Nowhere:

Last year, when I moved to the land of tiny (as I refer to the Netherlands), I fell in love with Amsterdam. These days, we're falling in love–all over again. And I don't think I could have said it any better than I did last year:

'There's a chill in the air, and you can feel the seasons changing. It's as if the second hand has suddenly struck a new hour, and the new hour is the next season–autumn. there's something that happens around this time of year that gets me excited. The leaves are changing colors, slowly sauntering to the ground, and Vondelpark is revealing a side of itself that I have yet to lay eyes on; the advent of autumn is here. The weather’s just perfect–not too hot, not too cold. And when the sun shines the smell of dried leaves fills the air. The days are getting shorter, the sunsets even more spectacular. Sometimes I ask myself if they’re even real. I’ve been taking picture of the Dutch light from various places around town; mostly from my back terrace. I’ve amassed quite a bit so far, and only time will tell what I’ll use them for, if anything. They make me smile when I look at them, and remind me of just how spectacular the world really is.' I was one happy guy last year. And apparently, all I had to worry about, were which flowers to buy at the market: 'Lilies I’ll be looking into, but who knows what I’ll buy. Only time will tell; perhaps a vibrant color of another flower will spark my interest more.'

Of all my troubles, those were the toughest: flowers–and this is highly insightful, in retrospect. So why can't today be like that day, last year? Oh wait–it can, of course. And how wonderful, for me, to realize this. This past weekend, which cycling, I stumbled across the greatest quote ever. It was painted on the front of a house, above a doorway, situated in the tiny artist community/squatter village of Ruisgord. Some 8K east of Haarlem. The quote read: 'Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, today is a gift, and that's why they call it the present.' It's so true, I love it. Tomorrow is a new day–and until then–I'm slowly brewing a new love letter to Amsterdam.